


Of Paperwork and Pancakes

by Sensoo



Series: In Alio Loco [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Don't Try This At Home, M/M, Nobody actually eats breakfast, Reader-Insert, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensoo/pseuds/Sensoo
Summary: A response to an Overwatch cooking battle challenge, set in the In Alio Loco Universe.It was a silly contest, supposed to drum up positive PR for Overwatch.  Strike Commander Jack Morrison and his lovely assistant, Ainsley Petras, would compete with Former Strike Commander Gabriel Reyes and his...surly assistant, in a kitchen battle. It was meant to be a vapid waste of an afternoon playing nice for the cameras.Then Gérard Lacroix got involved.  Breakfast is a revenge best served cold.  Or at least, not on fire.





	Of Paperwork and Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Chapter 6 on the timeline, this is pre-romance Lucky. It was meant to be a drabble. It got a bit out of control. 
> 
> If you haven't read In Alio Loco, this might not make a lot of sense. Reader is female, any ethnicity/skin color, with the cover/nickname "Lucky Strike." 
> 
> "Jack and Gabe are invited to participate in a televised cooking show. Higher ups thought it'd be great press for Overwatch!" Submitted by Jellyfish on the Discord.

"I don't have time for this," you scowled, and Gabriel gave you a dirty look that would have been more intimidating if you weren't in imminent danger of being crushed by the growing stack of paperwork and the metaphorical weight of your responsibilities. 

"And I do?" He crossed his arms.

"Well, then one of us should stay back and work-" You glared up at him, your desk covered in handwritten Shit Spiders notes, Blackwatch folders, dossiers, and a variety of reports. 

"Jack's bringing Ainsley."

"That's his handicap," you said, waving one hand. "You can take them both on your own, possibly blindfolded, drunk, and with one hand tied behind your back."

Gabriel's lips twitched, the only sign that you'd amused him. "That isn't the point. This is a PR stunt. Strike Commander has an assistant. Former Strike Commander also needs an assistant. It's basic symmetry," Gabriel scowled. "Don't look at me like that, I know it's stupid, but it's public relations."

"You're telling me that you need an entourage. That's stupid," you retorted. 

Gabriel huffed. "So help me, _chica_, you're my goddamn assistant: it's your job to assist me..."

"Yes, and I'm assisting you in getting real work done while you go play nice for the cameras." You gestured to the spread on your desk. "I am so far behind, it isn't funny. I'm going to be living in this office all weekend while you and your boyfriend go-"

"So you can get out now," Gabriel said, coming around and yanking your chair back. He then dumped you out of it, grinning as you caught yourself on the edge of the desk and glowered at him. "Come on. Don't make me do this alone. I'll owe you one. I'll make you chili."

"I can make my own chili," you snapped. "And it's probably better than yours."

"I doubt it," Gabriel said smugly.

"Yeah, well you doubted my omurice too, and look how that turned out," you said, not above rubbing his nose in it.

"Ketchup on eggs," he muttered.

You made a grab for your chair, but he swung it to the side with ease and then had the nerve to laugh about it.

"Gabriel! Give it back! What are you? Six years old?" You snarled, because you had so much to do, and why was he making everything more difficult? "Isn't my life hard enough without you stealing my chair? I've got a mountain of unsorted intel, personnel reports, Shit Spiders missions, supply orders, and for some reason there are only twenty four hours in a day! Go bother Jesse or literally _anyone else_ in Blackwatch if you just need an extra body!"

Gabriel stared down at you, his expression grim. "I know you're still struggling to catch up. And I'll be working over the weekend with you. I know there's enough in there to keep three people busy. I can take over some of it. If we play our cards right, we can get Jack to help out as well."

You blinked slowly, not sure you were hearing him correctly.

"Come on. I know it's dumb and we both have better things to do. But I'd like you there too. Please." He pushed your chair back to you, his expression sheepish, like he'd only just remembered that he could use words nicely. He gave you a warm crooked grin. "Come on. Help me con Jack into working over the weekend with us. We can lay the stakes, then trounce him and Overwatch Barbie. It'll be fun." 

It was a petty, juvenile, absolutely asinine idea and obviously a bribe. But damn if it wasn't effective. 

You rubbed the back of your neck. "Yeah, I guess I could get out of the office for a spell. You really think we can get him to help out?" 

Gabriel grinned at you, and genuine delight lit up his rugged features. "Definitely." 

Shaking your head, you followed him out of the office, wondering what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

* * *

You weren't using a proper kitchen. The producers had commandeered one of the gymnasiums and made a set piece. The ovens, stoves, and sinks had been wheeled in, locked together, and now they were having a little trouble with the water hookup. That boded ill. 

There were lights, cameras, and civilians everywhere. You stuck by Gabriel, face grim as you took in the scene.

"Can I go back to Canada?" You muttered.

"Only if you take me with you," Gabriel said, out of the corner of his mouth. He gave you a wry grin. "It won't be _that _bad. We go in, we kick ass, we get out. It's the usual mission parameters."

You exhaled slowly. "Sir."

A perfectly coiffed brunette wearing a headset and a red skirt suit power walked toward you, her eyes on Gabriel. She smiled brightly at him, giving him an appreciative once-over. "Commander Reyes, in the flesh. It's an honor." She reached out, her bright red nails perfectly shaped, hands soft and intact. "My name's Brianna," her voice dropped to throaty purr. "I'm _so _glad you came." 

Gabriel shook her hand and nodded stoically. "I go where I am ordered."

You smothered a snort.

Brianna pursed her lips, obviously taken aback by Gabriel's almost rude response. But then, he wasn't obligated to flirt back with her, so she could just deal with it. She cleared her throat a few times, trying to paste on a more professional smile. "Well, we're running a little behind schedule, but I'm sure it'll be fine. Makeup and wardrobe have set up over there and I'm sorry, who is this?" She blinked, noticing you for the first time.

"This is my assistant, she'll be my sous chef for the day."

"Oh." The woman blinked. She looked down at her phone. "She's not on the itinerary..."

"Morrison is bringing his assistant," Gabriel said dryly.

Brianna's smile froze in place. "Well, yes. Miss Petras is a well-known heiress with a large social media following."

You understood exactly what Brianna hadn't said: Ainsley Petras was rich, pretty, and her family was sponsoring the event. Your kind wasn't invited. 

"What does that have to do with cooking?" Gabriel asked, stone-faced.

"Oh, well, we didn't expect- We thought you'd prefer to choose a guest chef to help you. Olivia Madison is on site and so is Dixie Davis. They're both very eager to meet you." Olivia Madison was an attractive and well known upper crust British chef who was very fond of couture and never looked less than perfect. Dixie Davis was an American southern home cook with a painfully wide smile and a very southern twang. Her shtick was to add lard to almost everything. They both had their own cooking shows and would be more than adequate backup.

You grinned, getting ready to run back to the office.

"I'd be happy to meet them later," Gabriel said and crossed his arms, smile fading. "But Agent Strike is my assistant. In the field _and_ in the kitchen." He glowered at her, like she was misbehaving agent. You'd seen hardened soldiers crumple under that look. Showbiz Brianna didn't stand a chance.

"I-" Panicked, the woman looked around, trying to find someone else to back her up, but all of the TV people were giving you wide berth. 

"Gabriel, what's the hold up?"

Captain Amari, looking quite dashing in her dress blues, strode over. You would have smiled, but she wasn't alone. Right beside her, a smug little smirk on his sneaky face, was Gérard Lacroix, wearing what had to be an outrageously expensive charcoal silk suit and a dapper orchid boutonnière. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for you to maintain a polite expression. 

"Umm, Commander Reyes wants to replace one of our celebrity chefs with his agent, but we can't really change the lineup-"

Captain Amari raised a brow. " I don't see what the problem is. The Strike Commander is bringing his assistant. It only makes sense to extend the same courtesy to Commander Reyes. " She stared expectantly at Brianna, and the woman flinched. 

"My producers-"

Captain Amari and Gabriel both wore similar unamused and vaguely threatening expressions. You watched Brianna wither under their stare. Soon there would be nothing left except a puddle of spray-tan goo and some oddly stained red fabric.

"I will happily have word with them," Lacroix said, smoothly, stepping in. "I do recall they required specific insight on how to best utilize the squad dynamics for a more entertaining demo." 

"Oh," Brianna blinked, stepping backward as she straightened up. "Yes! Please. They'd be happy to explain things to you, Mr. Lacroix."

Lacroix winked at Gabriel and offered Brianna his arm. She happily took it. "I really enjoyed your performance against Captain Amari and Agent Lindholm. It was quite dramatic." She continued to gush about the Frenchman, clinging tightly to his arm.

You wrinkled your nose as they headed toward a cluster of people in expensive suits.

"Yes, well, Torby and I still trounced him and Reinhardt," Captain Amari said with a wry smile. "Mostly because Reinhardt was so very excited, he actually broke three cutting boards." She laughed.

You raised a brow. You hadn't realized this was a part of a series. Of course, you weren't really paying attention to PR campaigns.

Gabriel snorted. "That wasn't a competition as much a comedy skit gone wrong."

Captain Amari narrowed her eyes at him. 

"There was a lot of fire; some of it even stayed on the stove," he told you.

"Huh," you said, because that was the most diplomatic response you could conjure. And make no mistake, you needed to be diplomatic, because Captain Amari did not look amused.

"I will admit, Reinhardt...upgrading that charcoal grill led to some unfortunate consequences. But the bananas foster was _meant _to be on fire."

"Yes, but was Lindholm?" Gabriel snorted.

"His arm is synthetic," Captain Amari said. "We thought, erroneously, that it would make for a more dramatic presentation."

"Oh, it was plenty dramatic," Gabriel said, winking at you. "One of the judges grabbed a fire extinguisher and..."

Captain Amari sighed.

You briefly wondered how you'd never heard about this. 

"It never aired," Gabriel said, smugly. "But I think _someone _saved the footage."

Captain Amari just smiled thinly at Gabriel. "Are you saying you and Jack are going to do much better?"

"Jack?" Gabriel snorted. "We both know Jack. He isn't going to win this without help...or a miracle. But me? Oh yeah, we all know that I'll carry the team, as usual." He gave her a sardonic grin. 

"I see," Captain Amari said lightly, looking like she'd eaten something rotten at a fancy party, her jaw twitching slightly. She nodded at you, and headed in Lacroix's direction, obviously not pleased with Gabriel's boast. You had a sudden flash of discomfort and concern. Like you were in danger. And you had good instincts about that.

"Was that wise?" You asked, voice low.

Gabriel just laughed. "Serves her right for pressuring me into this. Stop fretting, _chica_. It's just a fake cooking competition. There aren't even any prizes. And if it's rigged, we can blow the whole thing down."

You just watched as Captain Amari caught up to Lacroix, and joined in on the conversation, the two of them looking very pleased and animated. They both glanced in your direction, smiled brightly, and returned to pitching _something _to the producers. And judging by the enthusiastic nods, it was something that the producers seemed to like. 

You were now officially worried.

* * *

You inspected the setup, pleasantly surprised to find that they had a good selection of kitchen equipment and spices. You took inventory, and decided that some of this stuff wasn't making it back to the production studio. The tools were name brand - probably strategic product placement. Gabriel was now schmoozing politely with the staff, and didn't look like he needed your help. So you moved on to checking the ingredients. You sniffed the ground cinnamon. Decent quality: not fresh ground - some of the potency had faded over time- but it would do.

"Should I even ask?"

You glanced over your shoulder, a little surprised to see Jack dressed down in blue jeans, a t-shirt, and an apron with the Overwatch logo. But he didn't look normal: normal people couldn't turn on the charm like a fire hose or look like Greek gods in hilariously casual clothes. And Gabriel, that extra fabulous bastard, couldn't date _normal._

"I'm checking the supplies before I start the job," you said, because you were almost used to holding informal conversations with Strike Commander "Call Me Jack" Morrison. Something about breaking his nose had also broken the ice, but you weren't entirely comfortable being alone with him. "That's just SOP." 

Jack laughed, and it might have even been real. "Gabe says you take food seriously."

"Complaints?" You asked dryly, because he'd been eating your cooking for a little while now, and seemed to like it.

"Nah." He flashed an easy smile. "Just watching you operate."

You grunted, unsure of exactly how to respond to that kind of statement. 

"There you are, Jack!" Ainsley Petras stepped onto the set, made up, polished, and beaming at the Strike Commander with a blindingly white smile. She wore a pretty blue dress that complemented her peachy skin tone, long blonde hair, and vapid blue eyes. It probably cost more than you made in three months. You didn't miss the pearl necklace or matching earrings. Ainsley "Homemaker" Petras was here to bag herself a Strike Commander. 

"I'm so excited. I heard Olivia Madison was here! She sets such an elegant table. I'm going to have to ask for some tips. I mean, I must admit that I have some experience in throwing dinner parties, but hers look so effortless," she tittered. "She's amazing. I'm a little envious that Commander Reyes is going to work with her. I mean, he'd pick her over Dixie Davis, right?"

"I kind of like Dixie," Jack said, and of course he would. He preferred down to earth, home cooking that went heavy on fat and comfort, spices optional. "But I think Commander Reyes is passing on the celebrity chefs."

Ainsley furrowed her brow, looking more confused than anything else. "Is he going to compete by himself?"

You rolled your eyes upward, and wondered if Captain Patel's incarnation of Durga would grant you more patience. Or a really big axe.

Jack gave you a wry look. "I think he has a secret weapon." 

"Oh," Ainsley said, still not getting it. She rested one hand on his arm. "You haven't been to makeup or wardrobe yet, have you?" It wasn't really a question. 

Jack's smile tightened.

"Why don't you head on over?"

"They'll let me know if they need me," Jack said coolly. "Agent Strike was just conducting an inspection of the premises. I'm awaiting her report."

"She is?" Ainsley said, noticing you for the first time. She didn't really see you, just your black t-shirt and fatigues, no insignia since you would be recorded. "Well, I'm sure everything is safe. It had to go through security and-"

"Quality inspection," Jack said.

Ainsley furrowed her brow, somewhere between confused and worried. "You don't think they're using organic or GMO-free ingredients?"

"Some," you said, because you'd actually looked. "It's adequate. But it wouldn't pass the Sato Selection," you said, deadpan. Because Shin had a deep appreciation for freshly ground spices, both pure and complex flavors, and real kitchens that actually worked. 

"I've never heard of that," Ainsley said, looking puzzled. "But I suppose I haven't studied much eastern cuisine. Is he an Iron Chef? Or Michelin-starred?"

"I believe both," Jack said, before you had a chance to make up an elaborate story. "And you said Commander Reyes had something he wanted to discuss?" Jack tilted his head to the side, expression thoughtful, like he really did have a mission and wasn't making up excuses on the spot. 

You smothered a snicker. "Oh, yes. High priority. Strike Commander's ears only."

"Very well," Jack said, giving you a nod. "Carry on." And with that, he strode over toward Gabriel, not giving Ainsley a backward glance.

Ainsley blinked, taken aback. "Oh my. Is it very serious?" She gave you a worried look. "Will we have to cancel the demo?"

"Couldn't say," you said, and returned to rummaging through the cupboards, very displeased to find a _toaster _on the counter.

Ainsley stood there for a moment, and then quickly walked away. You glanced up in time to see Jack and Gabriel off to the side, engaged in what looked like serious conversation. But you knew better. From the cocky angle of Gabriel's chin and the grim look on Jack's face, you could tell that they were trash-talking each other and probably flirting simultaneously. 

You didn't find any bombs, though the cumin was stale and the bay leaves a little too brown. You didn't expect to find any bombs either, but it was something to do while you waited to see what would happen.

"Anything worth stealing?" Gabriel asked, sidling up to you.

"The saffron isn't bad," you said.

"Really?" Jack asked, looking a bit perturbed.

"All's fair in food and war," you said.

"That's not how the saying goes," Jack laughed.

"But that's the most accurate assessment of Lucky that I've heard yet," Gabriel said, nudging Jack with his elbow.

Jack just shook his head, smiling fondly at Gabriel. 

"Hmm, looks like they want us to get prepped now," Gabriel said, tapping your shoulder. "Come on."

There were people gesturing for you, or at least your bosses to come over to the line of vanities, where Ainsley was being primped and powdered.

You sighed, still holding out hope that they'd replace you with a celebrity chef.

* * *

You were Lucky, but not _that_ lucky. And you kept that thought to yourself, because otherwise someone would try to make it your tagline and you didn't need that bullshit. 

The makeup and hair people had dutifully made you presentable. There was no change of clothes for you, because your presence had not been planned for, but all of you wore full-length blue Overwatch aprons, insignia clear on the chest. You stood off the side slightly behind Gabriel. Ainsley stood directly next to Jack. There were two kitchen partitions, mirror reflections of each other. 

There wasn't space for much of a live audience, thankfully. But Captain Amari and Lacroix sat in a row of hastily assembly folding chairs, next to a bunch of suits, whispering between themselves. That was unnerving, because while you and Lacroix might be on the same side, anything that made him happy didn't sound like it would be pleasant for you. But maybe you were just really biased.

You accidentally made eye contact with the Frenchman, and his smile widened, then he winked at you. 

Your stomach clenched and you held his gaze for another half second, just so you could pretend like you weren't intimidated by him. Then you went back to scanning the area, acting super casual. You might be paranoid when it came to analyzing his intentions, but that didn't mean you were wrong.

Brianna strode up the midway point between kitchens, her makeup perfect, her smile radiant. She beamed at the cameras and made a pretty speech about Overwatch, heroes, blah blah blah... You tuned her out, wondering what exactly Lacroix had done.

"It has come to our attention that our heroes are skilled in _many_ ways, and require an increased challenge. And so, to make things even more interesting, we're going to make some surprise changes! Commander Morrison, Commander Reyes, if you could switch kitchens. Your assistants, however, will stay where they're at."

_ Oh._

You blinked, and gave Gabriel a look.

He wasn't looking at you though. His unamused glare was directed at a certain smarmy looking Frenchman and Captain Amari. Both of whom looked far too pleased with themselves. 

"If I beat you, do I still get help with paperwork this weekend?" You asked, under your breath.

"_Chica_, you're dreaming if you think you can beat me. Especially with Morrison as your handicap." 

"Hmm. So that's a yes?" You said, because you didn't care who won. You cared about that growing mountain of paperwork that was slowly burying you and your desk.

"I made a deal. I'll abide by it," he said sharply as he strode away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ainsley's poorly concealed look of horror as Gabriel stalked over to her. So much for impressing the Strike Commander with her feminine skills. And Gabriel was not really amused by how she kept flinging herself at his boyfriend. She was in for a bad time. You smothered a grin.

"Dinner and a show then," Jack said, coming to stand beside you. "Gotta admit, this is a little more even. Because I don't think Ainsley can cook."

"Can you?" You asked, trying not to sound too skeptical. Because so far, Jack hadn't really contributed much to your shared meals. Which was OK. Probably. 

"A little," he said, in a way that you didn't trust. "Just basics. Nothing fancy like you and Gabe." He didn't sound bothered at all by the switch, but then, why would he be? He didn't have to work with Ainsley now.

"What is the most important meal of the day? What will set you up for success? What does Strike Commander Morrison eat to get him started for a day of saving the world? Breakfast!" Brianna announced. "And that is our theme today!"

"Hmm," Jack leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You know, I normally eat leftovers or grab an energy bar on the way out, if I eat at all," he said.

"So you don't know how to make breakfast?" You asked, holding very still. 

He chuckled softly. "Who doesn't know how to make breakfast? On the scale of cooking things, breakfast foods are pretty easy. We can do sandwiches. Toast, fried egg, bacon or sausage, a slice of cheese. Maybe some cut fruit."

"No toast," you said, giving the toaster a dirty look.

Jack looked between you and the appliance, a little puzzled. "OK."

"Do you really think you can win with casual breakfast sandwiches?" You asked, glancing over at Gabriel who had his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he very obviously ignored the trembling Ainsley.

"You might have a point," Jack said thoughtfully. He paused. "So what's your reason for joining this competition? Fame? Fortune? All the spices you can steal?" He laughed, and didn't exactly sound suspicious, but you knew better than to trust Jack Morrison when he was being friendly.

"My boss made me do it," you said dryly.

Jack arched a brow. "Reluctant help can be worse than no help."

You sighed, not really wanting to have the Strike Commander lecture you about enthusiasm. "What do you want to make?"

"What kind of breakfast do you like?" Jack asked, going along with your topic change. 

You couldn't help but think of Shin bringing you grilled fish and lightly pickled vegetables on rice. He liked presenting you with food while you were still in bed. On one occasion he'd surprised you with whipped chocolate butter and croissants. He'd been so proud of himself, sneaking those luxury items in under your nose. Sharing breakfast had a warm almost casual intimacy that was different from other meals. You'd forgotten that. 

And there was the one memorable time that Lao had successfully made everyone in the squad breakfast- savory Chinese crullers, pork floss, salted eggs, fish cakes, and spicy Chinese radish on congee. It had been a wonderfully lazy Saturday morning. But your entire squad had been there, half awake and hungry, while Lao cheerfully dashed around trying to shovel more food into everyone's bowls. She'd only cooked the congee, the rest of the ingredients had been ready to eat, because Lao wasn't a fancy cook. Still, it was one of your fondest memories. 

But none of that would ever happen again.

You blinked rapidly, heart clenching too tightly in your chest. "Doesn't really matter," you said, voice rough. "I just eat whatever's around." You turned your head, staring down at the floor.

There was a moment of silence as you opened up a cupboard and rummaged around for ingredients. You weren't actually reading the labels, but you needed a minute to compose yourself.

"I like pancakes," Jack said slowly. He was standing too close to you, blocking your view of the cameras and the film crew. "Blueberry pancakes, really fluffy omelettes, and some kind of meat protein- bacon if I have choice."

"OK," you said, and pulled out the flour, baking powder, and other dry ingredients for pancakes. You took a couple more shaky breaths, your hands steadying. "Do they have buttermilk and blueberries?"

Jack waited for you to stand, before he went to the fridge and began digging. 

You set the items you needed on the counter, inhaled deeply, exhaled it all, and turned to face Jack. He now had an armload of buttermilk, butter, bacon, a carton of eggs, and a bag of frozen blueberries that he set down beside you.

"I didn't see fresh blueberries," he said apologetically. "Found frozen ones though."

"Frozen can be better," you said and began to sort through everything.

"Strike Commander, have you decided on your menu?" Brianna asked, brightly, stepping into the kitchen space.

"Blueberry pancakes for sure," he said, smiling. "And bacon." 

"Also maybe you should have your sous chef remove her gloves. For...sanitary reasons," Brianna said, lowering her voice. 

You clenched your teeth, fingers curling into fists.

"No need," Jack said. 

"But-"

"I would happily vouch for anything that comes from her hands...gloves," Jack laughed, though there was no room for disagreement with his tone. 

"I...All right," Brianna stuttered. "Of course, whatever you say."

You could picture the pleased and somewhat overwhelming smile he was probably dazzling her with. He was good at weaponizing that; you still weren't used to it. So you didn't turn around, you just measured out the dry ingredient for the pancakes and stirred them into a mixing bowl.

"Thanks," you said, after hearing her heels click away.

"It's no problem," Jack said. "So what can I do to help? Are you ready for the blueberries?"

"They'll stain the mixture. If you're looking to make pretty pancakes, we can add them to the batter while they're in the pan."

"Oh, clever," Jack murmured. "I would have just eaten tie-dyed purple pancakes."

You snorted. "It doesn't affect the taste. This is purely for looks."

He nodded. "Kind of like this competition." 

You laughed at that. 

"And by the way, I didn't intend to insult you when I asked you why you were doing this." He looked you straight in the eye, oozing sincerity. "I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean it so seriously. It's OK to have fun too."

You shrugged, still not used to Jack's open emotions. "I would love to have fun, but I'm currently in danger of being buried alive under all the paperwork in the office."

Jack blinked and then filled in the blanks. "And so Gabriel said he'd help you with it if you assisted him with this?"

You nodded. "We were planning to work on it over the weekend."

Jack frowned. "We were planning on some basketball."

"Oh." You glanced over at Gabriel who was stoically stirring a bowl while Ainsley meekly chopped up green onions, sniffling the entire time, like maybe the green onions were just too strong for her delicate constitution. You hadn't realized Gabriel had made actual plans this weekend. 

"Look, I didn't realize you were so swamped," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it makes sense given the amount of work and the limited number of people with the appropriate clearances." He gave you a guilty smile. "You know, I do really appreciate you sticking around to keep me from looking totally incompetent. How about this? I can stay late Friday and help you guys out. Maybe if we all buckle down, you can have the weekend off."

And if you had the weekend off, so would Gabriel, therefore they could have their basketball date. It wasn't a bad tradeoff. Hmm. Well, Gabriel was looking to recruit Jack to help you out. And the fool had just volunteered so...

"That sounds great," you said looking up. Jack was watching you, one hand on his chin. Those bright blue eyes focused on you with a startling intensity. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, cheerfully. "What can I work on?"

"Do you want to start on the bacon?" You suspected he could do that without too much trouble.

"Griddle's still heating up," he said. "You want me to crack the eggs?"

"That'd be helpful." 

"How many?"  
"Can you do a dozen for the omelettes and three for the pancakes? And separate out the whites?

Jack nodded. "No problem." 

You went back to measuring the wet ingredients. A minute later, Jack had set a little bowl of eggs whites next to your arm. There were tiny pieces of eggshell floating in it, but no yolks. You discretely fished the bits out - you could let it go in an omelette, but not in pancakes. Then you stirred in the wet ingredients, watching the mixture bubble.

"Eggs are ready," Jack said, setting down a bowl of yolks and one of whites. You salted the yolks and added some mayonnaise. 

Jack peered over your shoulder. "You want me to mix that?"

"Sure." You had expected a little resistance to the idea. Gabriel had some very fixed ideas about eggs. Adding mayonnaise to the raw mixture had gotten you some incredulous looks. Adding ketchup to omurice had nearly started a fight. Jack just went with it. 

You set the bowls of egg whites under the stand mixer, watching the clear viscous goo turn into white fluff. Then you folded the whipped egg whites into the pancakes, careful not to stir to hard.

Jack had set a pan on the stove to heat up for you - you turned the temperature down and added nonstick spray and butter. Using a measuring cup, you poured a few ounces of batter onto the pan and gently sprinkled the blueberries in. 

"Those look and smell good," Jack said, back over your shoulder, standing far too close. He wasn't touching you, but you could feel his heat almost on your back. You chocked it up to the narrow makeshift show kitchen and focused on the food. 

Jack placed several strips of thick cut bacon onto a large griddle, the meat sizzling on contact.

"It's too hot," you said. "Turn it down a little."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack laughed, not arguing. "And for the record, I have no problem taking orders from someone who knows better than me."

You snorted. "In the kitchen, it's "yes, chef," you said with mock severity.

"Yes, _Chef_. Sorry, _Chef_," Jack replied, flashing you that boyish grin, blonde hair falling in his face, those bright blue eyes full of mischief. "Please don't withhold food from me, _Chef_." 

Your grip on pan handle tightened. Gabriel's boyfriend was really too damn good looking and far too likeable when he wanted to be. "Oh don't worry, if you mess up the bacon, you'll be the one eating it."

Jack just chuckled. "You can't mess up bacon. It's bacon." 

You didn't really want to argue with that kind of logic. "What do you want on your omelettes?" 

"Chef's choice," Jack said. "I don't know what you and Gabe put in there half the time, but it's always good." 

Rolling your eyes, you flipped the pancake, gave it a minute, plated it, and started another. "Can you watch this?"

"Sure."

You went to the fridge, dug out some mushrooms, gruyere cheese, green onions, and smoked salmon. You chopped up the onions with no trouble, pointedly staring at Ainsley.

She didn't notice you. She was now slowly slicing ham, looking terribly dejected while Gabriel stood in front of the stove, still ignoring her. He glanced over his shoulder at you, expression wry. 

You just raised your chin. He's the one who'd dragged you into this. He was the one who wanted to brag in front of Lacroix and Captain Amari. He could just deal with the consequences.

Gabriel snorted, apparently reading your expression clearly and gave you a dirty look.

Smiling graciously, you began to chop up the mushrooms.

* * *

"I am somewhat surprised at how well they work together. What are your thoughts?" Gérard smirked at Ana, lounging in his seat. 

"They do," Ana smiled pleasantly, not quite willing to congratulate him on his little coup. It was well-done, but he didn't need encouragement when it came to meddling in his friends' lives. "I think we've all been pleasantly surprised by Agent Strike's ability to handle Gabriel. But then that's why you suggested the little twist in the competition, isn't it?" 

Gérard just chuckled. "Come now, Ana. Gabriel and Strike would have _slaughtered_ poor Jack and Mademoiselle Petras. She barely knows how to hold a knife. And the less said about the quality of Jack's taste buds, the better. This arrangement has more parity. It keeps things..._interesting_."

Gérard's definition of "interesting" could be dangerous, but it was almost always entertaining, provided she didn't have to clean up the mess. "And I suppose it doesn't hurt that you've managed to put one over on poor Gabriel," Ana said, not actually sounding sympathetic. She distinctly remembered him doubled over laughing at the prior catastrophic kitchen demo and all the snarky jokes that followed. Oh no, in this situation, Ana didn't have a milligram of sympathy for Gabriel Reyes. 

"Pride comes before a fall," Gérard said cheerfully. "It my solemn duty to keep him humble. For the greater good." 

Ana just rolled her eyes. Gérard 's penchant for playing the puppeteer mastermind reeked of an arrogance that rivaled any super soldier's ego. 

"Strike is actually adapting better than I expected," Gérard said, actually stroking the points of his mustache. "Despite Gabriel's mothering." 

Ana sometimes wondered if he _really_ needed to do that, or if it just suited his aesthetic to adopt flamboyantly villainous gestures. "We had a talk."

Gérard just smiled, because of course he already knew that.

"She's going out on a mission with Jesse in a week. She works well with him and he's a good agent. I am not overly concerned."

"Gabriel tasked me to write up an analysis on current Shimada operations. A complete coincidence in timing, of course. Nothing to do with Strike's upcoming mission." 

Ana didn't take the bait. Gérard wanted to prod that sore spot with Gabriel, but she was fine letting it heal naturally. You were Gabriel's sole survivor from Black Base Delta. If he wanted to take extra precautions with your safety, she would not begrudge him that. "You always have such sharp insights about other people's plans and intentions. I'm very glad you use your skills for _the greater good_. After all, Gabriel hasn't had such a capable assistant since Jack served as his second."

Lacroix nodded thoughtfully. "We both know Gabriel can be difficult to work with. Strike is invaluable simply because she can handle him so well. But you should know, when I expressed my surprise a few minutes ago, I wasn't referring to Gabriel and Strike." He inclined his head at you. Jack hovered over your shoulder, passing you ingredients, and following instructions. He smiled with genuine amusement, not the pleasant professional look he usually wore for the cameras. That was just Jack, not the Strike Commander talking to you. "Despite, or maybe because of her rough edges, it seems Strike has a way with our Americans." 

Ana raised a brow. "I see what you mean."

"I understand it's a fairly recent development. He was keeping his distance till his office was invaded."

"I have no complaints about Gabriel or Lucky's conduct," Ana said, not quite sure where he was going with this.

"Mmm," Gérard said, thoughtfully. "You have the most expert insight into their dynamic." There was no teasing tone, or sly looks. Gérard wasn't insinuating anything. In this, he was simply acknowledging her closer knowledge of Jack, Gabriel, and you.

"But you have concerns?" Ana asked, because Gérard was good at spotting future problems.

"These are trying times. Not the same as what we endured during the Omnic Crisis, but troubling nonetheless. Jack and Gabriel are doing better, their relationship less strained than before. The three of them are working together in close quarters, under a great deal of stress, and there is a certain chemistry there, wouldn't you say? That is a recipe for _something_." 

"Jack and Gabriel are both very aware of the boundaries and power disparity. And Lucky is not in the mindset to consider such things. Maybe further down the road we will have issues." She paused. "Probably. But it will be awhile."

"Mmm," Gérard said.

"I am keeping an eye on it," Ana said. "There is nothing going on yet and there is no need for you to get involved."

"With how oblivious Strike seems to be? No, I wouldn't dream of interfering," Gérard said, folding his hands in his lap. "It will be much more entertaining to just sit back and watch." 

Ana sighed, massaging her temples. 

"Oh look," Gérard said brightly. "Gabriel's pan is on fire. Do you think he meant to do that?"

* * *

The omelettes were the trickiest dish. You sautéed your mushrooms first, because they took longer to cook. Using a clean pan, you added oil, let it heat up, and poured some of the egg mixture in. You took a moment to flip a pancake, and then scattered the green onions and mushrooms over the half-cooked egg. It began to puff up, fluffy, light, and golden. Once it was mostly solid, you added shredded gruyere and strips of smoked salmon. After folding it in half, you switched over to the other pan a started a new pancake.

Jack stood over the bacon, staring very hard at it, almost like he was willing it to cook faster.

Once the cheese had melted, you plated the omelette, and set it on the counter. You flipped the pancake and started up on another omelette.

"That looks amazing," Jack said, casually picking up the finished omelette. 

You blinked, and then noticed that your stack of blueberry pancakes was shorter than you remembered.

"Hey, are you-"

Smiling, Jack lifted the omelette with his bare hands and took a bite. "This is really good!"

You stared at him, mind stuttering for half a second. "You're not supposed to eat that! It's for the judges!"

"I didn't have breakfast this morning," he said, unapologetic as he took another bite. "It's delicious! And so are the pancakes, by the way.

"Jack, how are we going to win if you eat all the food?! I can't believe-"

Grinning, Jack shoved a slice of bacon into your mouth. 

Snarling, you bit down, chewed up the very crispy bite, and glared at him. "There isn't going to be enough-"

He ate the rest of the bacon, looking far too pleased with himself. "It'll be fine. Gabe's cooking too-"

Just then there was a shriek. 

You reached for your sidearm, already turning to see what was happening. 

"Oh no-" Jack sighed, even as Gabriel began to say some very angry words in Spanish.

You did not grab your gun. And even if you had, it wouldn't have helped anyway. 

Gabriel's stovetop glowed with real live fire.

Ainsley screamed, throwing water onto the stove top, but the flames just spread to the counter. How...Oh. There was a tipped over bottle on the counter beside the stove. The flames reached it and jetted upward in ten foot high plumes. _Someone_ had spilled oil onto the stove. You caught a glimpse the cutting board beside it, before it too was engulfed in flames. 

"Stop throwing water on the grease fire!" Gabriel snarled.

Ainsley just babbled and reached for a mixing bowl.

Swearing, Gabriel slapped it out of her hands before she had a chance to toss it at the flames. 

The bowl flew toward your side of the kitchen, and you instinctively reached out to catch it. 

But then it tilted sideways, spraying you and Jack with a thick white pudding. It splattered your face and went down your front. You glanced over at Jack, who was actually doubled over laughing. 

When you looked back at the other kitchen, Gabriel had gotten a hold of a fire extinguisher and was finally putting out the flames. 

Next to you, Jack reached out and grabbed another pancake and a slice of bacon. He munched them quietly while Ainsley looked around the trashed kitchens, jaw dropping when she saw Jack covered in food. She didn't dare look at Gabriel. All of sudden, she began to sniffle, and the sniffles turned to shakes, which to turned to big heaving sobs, and Ainsley Petras ran crying from the gym. 

Over in the seats, Lacroix and Captain Amari were valiantly stifling their laughter. They weren't successful, but if you just didn't look at them, you would be fine. 

"Well," you said, and turned back to your omelette. You flipped and plated it, noticing that the pancake had gotten a little too brown. You piled it onto the plate and just sighed. "I should probably go get cleaned up."

Jack just leaned over and swiped a finger across your cheek. 

You blinked as he tasted the white goo. 

"Mmm, that's good too," he said with a nod. He licked his fingers then, looking very pleased. 

You flicked your tongue out, tasting vanilla, sugar, and condensed milk. Gabriel had been making a flan. 

Gabriel stood alone in the smoldering remains of his kitchenette, smoke curling around him. He did not look happy.

"You should probably take him some of our food," you said, nudging Jack with your elbow. "I'm going to go shower."

Smirking, Jack added bacon to the plate of pancakes and picked up the omelette. Smugly, he sauntered over to Gabriel and offered up a plate.

Gabriel just scowled.

"Lucky made most it, and it's delicious," Jack said cheerfully, and took another bite of pancake.

Gabriel just gave you a long hard stare. 

You decided that now was a good time to retreat for a shower.

* * *

After your shower, you returned to the office, and found both Gabriel and Jack standing over your desk, sorting through paperwork. Neither man looked up, both engrossed in whatever they were working on.

"Hey," you said. "How'd it go?"

"In light of our pyromaniac track record, Overwatch cooking demos are cancelled for the foreseeable future," Jack said, grinning at you slyly. 

Gabriel grumbled something under his breath. He looked up at you, frowning heavily. "Overwatch Barbie knocked the oil onto the stove. I'm still not sure it wasn't intentional."

"If she can't help Jack win, she can help you lose," you said solemnly.

"I don't want her help-"Jack groaned.

Gabriel just snorted. "Nobody won."

Well, technically, you'd made the most edible food, so you should have won by default, though the victory would have most likely been awarded to Jack. But Gabriel was in a sour mood, and since you wanted his help, you decided not to point that out. Instead, you looked over your desk and found the pile of Shit Spiders intel. Gabriel could look some of that over. 

There was a plate with half an omelette, a pancake, and several strips of bacon sitting on your desk, as well as a little vial of saffron that you'd forgotten on the counter when you left to clean up.

"For me?" You gazed at the men questioningly. 

"Yeah," Gabriel said. "Jack swiped it."

"Oh." You stared at it for a moment. "Thanks."

"Thanks for breakfast," Jack said, not looking up from his file. 

"Yeah, I'm bummed I don't get to eat Gabriel's flan."

"Is that what he was making? I thought it was vanilla pudding," Jack said, brow furrowing.

Gabriel sighed. 

"But I am apparently way off," Jack concluded. "Hmm. Maybe it's best if we don't speak of this again."

You shrugged and looked at your desk. "So what's the plan?"

"Getting a jumpstart on this mess. We have extra time since the demo got cancelled," Jack said, leafing through some papers. "Then I'll come back Friday night if we need to catch up, and we'll all have the weekend off, barring a Code Blue or some other crisis."

"Then this weekend, I can destroy you on the basketball court," Gabriel said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Mmm, I might recruit Lucky to back me up," Jack said, winking at you.

You snorted. "Leave me out of your weird lovers' competitions."

"You're just scared that even with Jack's help, you can't take me in a game," Gabriel said.

You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. You didn't have much time to play sports, aside from "dodge the Genji" or "don't get flattened by Jack." Sometimes, other agents would get a game of soccer going and you'd join in but-

"You should come," Jack said, after a pause. "Unless you have other plans." 

"I'll have to check..." you said, because while you did not, you weren't so sure you should tag along with them.

Gabriel didn't look at you, and you suspected that he knew that you were being purposefully vague. 

"Anyway, I don't know how much use I'll be at basketball," you added quickly. "But earlier, Gabriel was talking shit about making better chili than I do, and I am ready and willing to defend my honor."

"What's so hard about chili?" Jack asked, wrinkling his nose. "You just open a can and-"

"What?" You and Gabriel shouted in unison.

"You open a can and-"

"Jack, you're an idiot," Gabriel said.

"Or just doing it all wrong," you added, not quite sure that you should call the Strike Commander an "idiot." Probably not, since he was going to help you with your workload. 

"Look, I don't tell you how to live your lives," Jack huffed.

Gabriel shook his head. "Lucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Chili cookoff later? Pride aside, someone has to show Hoosier what real chili tastes like. "

"Sure," you said, still a little dazed from his "open a can" statement. "You're on."

"Snobs," Jack said, rolling his eyes.

You sat at your desk, two super soldiers helping you sort and handle the mountain of paperwork. Taking a bite of your blueberry pancake, you realized that the cooking show might have been a wash, but both Jack and Gabriel were going to help lighten your workload. And that was a big win for you. Plus they'd saved you some of your hard-earned food. What more could you ask for? You smiled then, chewing happily as you got back to work. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff and stuff. I kind of forgot what jerks Gabriel and Lucky were early on. (And Jack, but Jack's subtler about it.) I'll post more IAL next week.


End file.
